Object of Revulsion
by Answer
Summary: "Gosh, Gaston," said Lefou, his expression somewhere between awed and worried. "I can't believe it. That monster actually pushed you off the roof?" One-shot.


_I know it's unlikely that anyone would survive a fall like that but... he _is_ Gaston._**  
**

* * *

There are not a lot of people in the world who can pull off an air of superiority and impressiveness whilst stretched flat on their backs with their legs in the air – and covered from head to toe in bandages. In fact, at the time this particular scene unfolds, there were only five. Three of them had, in fact, been dead for some time, but that's another story. The individual in question was not dead, though this was a surprise to everyone but him. The fact that "No one survives a fall of over a hundred feet onto solid rock like Gaston" doesn't fit comfortably into a song fails to make it any less true, after all.

And, of course, the man in question _was_ Gaston – essentially the same man who just days ago had confidently led an incensed crowd to the castle of a monster of some kind – albeit now feeling somewhat sorry for himself.

Of course, things could have been significantly worse. For example, he could have been entirely without adoring admirers.

"Gosh, Gaston," said Lefou, his expression somewhere between awed and worried. Gaston spotted the former and automatically made to puff out his chest, but regretted it. Every slight gesture he made resulted in what felt like… like… Strange. He didn't think he could find anything to compare it to. Lefou continued. "I can't believe it. That monster actually pushed you off the roof?"

Gaston attempted to heave a dramatic sigh, but ended up sounding like he was gasping for breath – unsurprising, considering the number of broken ribs he'd sustained. "Yes. Completely ignored the rules of fair combat…"

Lefou paused in what he was doing, which was trying to work out how Gaston could get the ale brought to him by well-wishers from the tankard to his mouth, and looked puzzled. "Fair combat? But it was an animal. You shoot, they die, huh, Gaston?" He tried as hard as he could to sound sincere. He kept trying to think of this as though Gaston's injuries were the result of some accident on a routine hunting trip, but deep down he had doubts. There was something in the way Gaston spoke of the creature that belied his description of it as a dumb beast.

The hunter's expression at that moment might have betrayed him even more, had Lefou been able to see it. As it was, he was trussed up in an almost comical fashion, with only slits for his eyes and mouth left exposed. "Right," he replied, uneasily. "Of course."

He was saved from further questioning. There is only so long that one's adoring fans can be kept waiting.

"I'd love Gaston even if he were poor and couldn't afford to keep me!" cried one girl vehemently as she burst into the room. She was quickly followed by two others.

"I'd love him even if he were blind and couldn't shoot!" retorted the second.

"I'd love him even if he were dead!"

Two of the blonde sisters turned to look at the third speaker. Their faces might have expressed any emotion from shock to disappointment to anger, yet both of them opted for open-mouthed, pouting ignorance. The effect was more or less the same.

"Oh, Marie," sighed one of them, smoothing her hair. "You really have no idea, do you?"

"She'll never make anything of herself," sighed the other, inspecting her nails.

Marie, the third, almost scowled, before she remembered the horrid effects that this could have on one's complexion. "I would, though," she protested. "If Gaston died, I should throw myself upon his beautiful corpse and cry passionate crystal tears!"

The other two exchanged glances.

Lefou looked at them, then turned back to Gaston. "I'll be outside if you need anything." The hunter made no answer. Lefou considered taking a few mouthfuls of ale to quench his thirst but thought better of it, beating a hasty retreat. Later, he would go to the tavern for a pint or two. It would leave him open to the incessant questions of the other townspeople, but at least if anything happened, whichever of Gaston's many friends happened to be in attendance would know where to find help. Lefou doubted that he could be of much use, but he was prepared to stay up all night if necessary. And all through the next night. He would not sleep as long as there was a chance that his friend needed him.

* * *

Though a few loyal hangers-on remained, the majority of the people who had gathered outside Gaston's house that morning had now dispersed, leaving behind them baskets and containers filled with all manner of goodies. From the position he selected for himself, huddled beside the front door, Lefou could make out a cake and an assortment of jars – no doubt filled with some manner of confectionary – peeping out from underneath a cloth on one of the baskets. He was grateful for the quiet. He needed time to think.

He wanted to believe Gaston's story. Sure, it would be something of a blow to think that the town's hero had been bested by an animal after all, but there were explanations that could easily be fabricated. Everyone knew that the forest was cursed – and that castle had sprung from nowhere. Every man in the village had seen the way the very objects had come to life – there was still no way that any _ordinary_ creature could beat Gaston. But somehow, Lefou couldn't quite bring himself to come to terms with that version of events. Gaston spoke of the creature not as his prey, but as a rival.

He thought back to that night. It had begun with that woman. Belle.

Without Gaston, Lefou was nobody. No one would have given him a second glance as just Lefou – as Gaston's right-hand man, he could always be relied upon for a repeat of that day's story of unmatchable human bravery, perhaps with a few embellishments of his own, just to make it a real crowd-pleaser. He knew well enough that he'd been chosen only because he lacked the will – or, truth be told, intelligence – to contradict Gaston in any way. He'd do anything for Gaston. But that didn't mean that he wasn't observant. He'd seen the way Belle had looked at that creature's image in the mirror. For a moment, he thought he'd even seen something of that emotion in the creature itself.

It was obviously nonsense and he'd dismissed it until now. But now – it all seemed to fit together. The way Gaston spoke of the creature as a rival. The way Belle had looked.

"_Take any booty you can find, but remember – the Beast is mine."_

Lefou would have given almost anything to know what had happened on that rooftop.

* * *

"Poor Gaston," cooed one of the sisters, her cool palm pressed against the bandages on his forehead in what she hoped was a soothing fashion.

"You're so brave," sighed another. "I'm certain I should die of fright if I ever saw something so ugly as that creature."

"Tell us again," begged the third. "Was he truly hideous?"

If there was any emotion but a thrillingly macho disdain in Gaston's voice as he repeated the now legendary description of the great beast he had fought – with maybe a red glint in its eye here and a little blood dripping from its fangs there, all for dramatic effect of course – the young women didn't notice it.

"Oh, Gaston, how perfectly horrible!"

There was a long pause. Marie twirled her hair thoughtfully, then stopped once she caught her sisters' horrified looks.

"Gaston," she began, at length. Gaston emitted a grunt that she took as an invitation to continue. "Gaston, I was just wondering – what did the doctor say? When will you be able to take the bandages off?"

Her sisters caught on fast enough.

"Oh, Gaston! We want to see your lovely face again!"

"Three days," he replied, slowly. "But…"

In almost perfect synch, the sisters clapped their hands together.

"Oh, how lovely!" one of them exclaimed. "That's the day of the royal wedding!"

Lefou overheard this last exchange as he opened the door to begin the somewhat arduous task of moving the various gifts into Gaston's front room. That was another peculiar thing. Ordinarily, he would have thought no more of the event than anyone else in the village did. Sure, it was peculiar that the prince, presumed dead from childhood, should so suddenly reappear – bringing with him all the splendour and excitement of a public holiday in celebration of his marriage – but everyone knew of the excesses of the royalty. But he'd been growing increasingly paranoid, and now this was just one more strange occurrence to add to the list.

* * *

The day of the wedding did not dawn fine and sunny – they were entirely too close to England for that. However, history fails to record these early hours of changeable weather, instead delighting in the beautiful birdsong and sunshine that accompanied the ceremony and the subsequent parade. For many of the townsfolk, this was a day that they would be proud to describe in intricate detail to their grandchildren, as the royal carriage was due to pass their very doorways. The newly-married couple could be certain of one thing at the very least – every man, woman and child would be out to watch them pass. Well, all but two.

"Oh, Gaston, it's going to be so exciting," sighed one of the sisters. "Look at me, all done up in my Sunday best." She bent over the swathed figure, teasingly. "You know how you _love_ me in this dress!"

"And me in this!" added a second.

Marie looked at them scornfully. "You two are awful. I for one fully intend to stay here and keep him company whilst the procession passes."

"Oh, Marie – and miss seeing the princess in her wedding gown?"

Marie bit her lip. "Well, I suppose Gaston wouldn't be alone."

"Of course not. It's not as if Lefou has any interest in watching the prince and princess pass."

"I suppose."

Lefou watched them go. Through the windows at the front of the house, he could make out the crowd lining the streets. There were people from other villages there too. It seemed as though the world had turned out to watch the royal couple.

"You want to go and watch, don't you?" It was a moment before Lefou recognised the voice as Gaston's, though they were alone in the room. It was the last thing he would have expected him to say.

"Well I…" he paused. "No, of course I'll stay here."

Gaston breathed heavily for a moment, feeling the pain in his chest increase so that it blocked out almost everything else.

"Go," he gasped, at length.

Lefou was puzzled. "What?"

"Go on, watch the parade."

Lefou didn't believe what he was hearing. "You – you don't mind?"

Gaston didn't answer. Lefou hesitated. He couldn't miss this. How often did one get to see a royal procession. And yet…

"Is there anything I can get for you, before I go?"

Gaston flexed his fingers. The agony was almost unbearable, but at least they moved. "The mirror," he said, quietly. "Bring me the mirror."

Lefou picked it up. It was a heavy object, supported by a stand. He balanced it on the sideboard beside Gaston's bed.

"I'll be back soon," he said. Gaston made a slight nod by way of acknowledgement. Lefou turned away, and a moment later, Gaston heard the door close. He was alone.

He'd never really been alone before. Wherever he went, there was always someone on hand to admire him. He craved that now. Never before had devotion seemed so much like pity.

He turned his head slightly, feeling his spine grate as he did so. The pain would have sent a lesser man than Gaston into unconsciousness, but he could manage it. Just.

Horribly slowly, he raised his hand to his head, carefully working the end of the bandage free. It unwound cleanly from his head, falling away to reveal his face. Then he looked in the mirror.

A horrible feeling gripped his stomach. He had felt this only once before, and he knew where and why. For the second time in his life, Gaston looked into a mirror and was revolted by what he saw.


End file.
